How can my joy hurt such to make me weep?
Your first words to me at each starting day;
Your last spoken when you stop to sleep.
First in my thoughts, but so very far away
Lithe, love, light and pale as the summer grass;
Clever fast and lusty, gifted in your wit.
Patient with my heart: sharp & frail as glass
Perversity met, matched- as a glove may fit.
My whims & needs as much your fondest treasure
You I may wanton toy, hurt & restrain
& yet you strive to bring me more pleasure
And smile to give your thank yous for the pain.
So if this year’s chances keep us apart
To have you is well worth a heavy heart
I caught myself crying again, while doing laundry. It’s a scary time, with the uncertainty of what might be, between going back to work after sick leave, watching the rather grim situation in the US and the world. But, love is such that, suck or not, I would rather miss him than not have him to miss.
He stoically puts up with my poetry.
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